Hostage
by unebonneidee
Summary: A hostage learns the Joker's REAL story. Could it be that the Joker is... human? This is my first fanfic EVER, so reviews are appreciated.
1. Human

The Joker sped down the streets of Gotham in a stolen U-Haul truck, blasting the radio as he drove

The Joker sped down the streets of Gotham in a stolen U-Haul truck, blasting the radio as he drove. The wind was in his green, greasy hair as the adrenaline from the just-committed crime coursed through him like an electric current. He screeched the truck to a stop in front of his current hideout: a bleak, minimally-furnished apartment in a bad part of town. There, a hostage awaited him.

Now normally, hostages held little interest for the Joker. He used them, abused them, made them fit his purpose and then was done with them. But this one, a girl of about 20, piqued his interest for reasons he couldn't explain. So, he was keeping her for a while, seeing what came of the situation.

"Honey, I'm home!" he shouted gleefully as he entered his lair. At the sound of his voice and his step, his hostage flinched violently, initially terrified. Soon, though, she regained her composure and readopted a defiant attitude. She glared at him as he walked around to face her. "D'you make dinner while I was out?"

"Fuck you," she spat.

"Mm, not so friendly. Well, we'll change that." He reached into his coat and was suddenly brandishing a sharp-looking knife. He brought the blade alarmingly close to her face, looked her in the eyes, and... the next thing she knew, he was cutting the ropes that bound her to her chair. She dared not speak, lest he change his mind and re-incarcerate her. Once free, she massaged her wrists, which were raw from the rope.

"Now," the Joker said, "I think I'll have a drink. Care for one?" He sat at a table and whipped out a bottle of vodka and two glasses.

"Um... maybe later," the hostage said sarcastically.

"Suit yourself. I'll pour a glass for ya in case you change yer mind." He poured a generous amount of vodka into a tumbler for himself, and a slightly smaller amount into another for his hostage. "Well sit down at least!"

The hostage sat across from the Joker. She eyed her drink suspiciously, then flicked her gaze to her captor, who took his first sip of the drink. "Aah, that's good," he said. When he got no response, he studied the hostage's face for a moment before bursting forth, "You don't talk much, do ya? If we're going to be hangin' out together, we might as well make conversation." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "There isn't exactly anyone else around."

"I don't really have anything to say to you."

"C'mon, you must have something to say. Insults, jeers... questions maybe... or even a compliment if the mood strikes. Feel free."

She shrugged boredly.

"You know, you don't actually seem very afraid. Usually, I make people kind of nervous. Especially on the first impression." He leaned forward again, across the table, drawing a weapon. "Aren't you a little nervous, considering I could and would take this knife to your throat at any second?"

"A little nervous maybe. But you don't really scare me, as much as fascinate me."

"Hmm!" the Joker said with surprise, "And what is so... _fascinating_ about me? I always love hearing about myself. No one seems to ever want to tell me anything positive."

"I wonder why," the hostage said dryly, but the Joker merely regarded her with indifference. "Well for one," she continued, "you seem sane one minute and _in_sane the next."

He grinned. "That's what I'm all about, baby."

"Mm, I can see that." Finally, the hostage tentatively reached for her drink and took a small sip.

"There you go! Cheers, kid." The Joker downed the rest of his drink. He poured another generous amount of alcohol and downed that too, a wince on his face. As he poured a third, the hostage asked, "Don't you think you should slow it down a little bit?"

"Why should I? No reason not to get completely trashed. I've got nobody to impress, and nowhere to be tomorrow morning."

"Fair enough," she said simply, and drained her glass. She poured herself another and downed most of it in one gulp. The corners of the Joker's mouth turned slightly upward in approval.

A couple drinks later, the two were acting a bit more relaxed. "So as long as we're here, can I ask you something?" said the tipsy hostage.

"Why not."

She lowered her eyes. "Well... I was wondering..." She traced the rim of her glass with her finger. "I mean, I've heard you tell two different stories about how you got your scars, and I was wondering... which of them was true."

"Ah," he said, comprehending, "well I'll tell you something." He paused dramatically. "They're _both_ true."

"How is that possible?"

"Well my father, he did hit the bottle pretty hard all during my childhood, and one night he went nuts and carved my face into this permanent grin you see here. But later on, I had a wife... beautiful. She got in deep with some shark, and he had his things disfigure her. So to show her it didn't matter to me, I opened my wounds back up myself. She thought I'd changed but... well, she called me a psychotic, heartless freak and left me."

"God. I'm so sorry."

"Oh that's not the best part though," he said matter-of-factly, as if this weren't his own past. "The kicker is, a year later, I found out she died. Some asshole she owed money sent his goons after her, and things got ugly. They shot her twice, in the back."

The hostage stared at her drink, not knowing what to say to a story like that. She glanced up at the Joker and saw that his face was wistful and something akin to melancholy. He stared blankly at a spot on the wall behind her.

"That's awful. I'm so sorry that all happened."

"Well," he said suddenly, seeming to be released from a reverie, "I always say, what doesn't kill you simply makes you... _stranger_." He paused and turned serious. "Although sometimes I wish it would," he said in a soft voice and again gazed blankly into space.

"You... you don't want to live?" she asked tentatively, hoping he wouldn't go off on her. His eyes flicked to her concerned face and filled with sadness and... the hostage thought she almost detected shame there, too. Without looking at her, he said slowly, "Every night... I go to sleep _praying_ not to wake up in the morning." He took a huge swig of his drink, draining it, and refilled it.

"That's terrible," she said incredulously.

"I look in the mirror and what I see..." he paused, took a gulp of alcohol, "what I see makes me physically sick. I can't stand living, but I'm too much of a coward to off myself." He became suddenly maniacal. "HAHEHAHA! How pathetic is that?!" His serious air returned as quickly as it had gone, and he poured himself yet another drink. After a few sips, he looked slightly nauseated. He blinked dazedly and said, "I think I need some air." Very drunk at this point, he tried to get up, but stumbled back into the chair. The hostage, who had not had as much to drink as the Joker had, and was only a bit tipsy at this point, got up from her chair and went over to her intoxicated captor.

"Here, put your arm around me," she said, moving his dead-weight arm so that it hung over her neck. They both pushed off from the table on which their glasses sat, and the hostage lurched sideways under the Joker's weight as he stood. "OK, here we go," she said as they stumbled forward as a unit.

There was a small balcony attached to the apartment. The hostage managed to move her quite heavy captor to the small space outside, and she leaned him against the railing. She took a step back and studied his face, wondering if he was going to vomit or pass out or do something violent. The Joker hung his head, breathing heavily. Suddenly, he lifted his head and wretched, and the contents of his stomach emptied themselves onto the sidewalk five stories below. The hostage winced and tried not to look, but she gently laid her hand on his back to steady his swaying body. He vomited again, and she delicately moved her thumb back and forth, as her other fingers laid flat on the back of his long, purple coat.

The Joker spat and groaned in disgust. "Feel better?" the hostage asked. The Joker rubbed his forehead wearily and nodded. "Here, let's go back inside." She half-carried him back into the apartment and sat him down on his cot. She went into the bathroom and managed to find a washcloth, which he soaked in warm water and wrung out so it wouldn't drip. She returned and sat next to the semi-comatose Joker. He turned a dazed gaze toward her as she examined him for signs of life. Acting purely on instinct, she inexplicably reached out her hand and touched the side of his face. He closed his eyes and ever so slightly leaned into her hand. She caressed his cheek, moving her fingers and palm from his temple down over his scars, which she no longer feared. She finally took her hand away, and the Joker's eyes slowly opened. He regarded her with a mix of pleasant surprise, confusion, and admiration. She took the washcloth and subsequently began to remove his smeared clown makeup.

After wiping his forehead, cheeks, eyes, nose, and mouth, she set aside the now-stained washcloth and looked for the first time upon the uncovered face of the Joker. He looked vulnerable... human. She noticed that his eyes, no longer surrounded with thick black makeup, were rather deep and entrancing. The two people regarded each other for a few moments, and then suddenly the hostage moved herself toward her captor. Her lips met the Joker's, and they shared a rather passionate kiss. Both moved back and looked at each other again. Simultaneously, small smiles formed on the two faces. "Goodnight," the hostage said, and got up from the bed. Still smiling, the Joker laid his head down and drifted immediately to sleep.


	2. Morning After

The Joker sat up in bed and winced, clutching his head with one hand, as he realized how much of a splitting headache he had. Groaning, he swung his feet around and stood up. The hostage, already awake, turned her gaze to her captor. He staggered to the small bathroom and groggily looked into the mirror. He froze at the sight of his naked face – his makeup had been removed the night before... but not by him.

He opened up the medicine cabinet and pulled out a large container of white substance, and proceeded to smear it all over his face. The hostage watched as, when he was finished with the white stuff, the Joker reached for a smaller container of charcoal-colored substance, which he smeared over his eyes. For the final step, he took out a messy tube of bright lipstick... and drew an elongated grimace on his face, like a bloody slash. He looked in the mirror, sizing himself up, and seemed to be satisfied.

He came into the main room and stopped when his eyes met the hostage's. "Morning," he mumbled and continued walking with suddenly averted eyes. "Good morning," she replied, watching after him, trying to judge what kind of physical and emotional state he was in. "H-how are you feeling?"

The Joker, now bending over to rummage in a large black bag, slowly turned his head to face her. "Like shit, thanks," he said ironically. He returned his gaze to his bag, but continued, "And how are you doing this morning?"

"I'm alright." She tried to peer into his bag but saw nothing but an abyss. She wondered if he was packing it up to pull a job today. "Going somewhere?"

"Yup. Got some _work_ to do today." He zipped the bag up and hoisted it onto his shoulder, giving her a conspiratorial raise of the eyebrows as he turned to exit.

As he was almost out the door, the hostage yelled breathlessly, "Take me with you?!"

Slowly the Joker turned to face her, a grin growing on his scarred face. "Take you with me!" he shouted incredulously. "Take you _with_ me?! HoheHeHahahahahehohaHoohooHa!" He fell into a fit of laughter for a moment, but suddenly regained his composure and looked pensive, gazing into the abyss. "Take you with me, hm?" He turned his eyes to the hostage, examining her almost scientifically. "Take you with me, hm!" The wheels in his head were almost visibly turning. "I've got an idea!" he shouted brightly with a snap of his fingers.

"What?!" the hostage asked eagerly.  
"I'll take you with me!"

The two walked quickly down the stairs and out the apartment building onto the streets of Gotham. "Do you drive?" the Joker asked.

"Sure I do."

"Good, cause you're gonna be my chauffeur for the day." They reached the Joker's stolen U-Haul truck. "Get in." They both climbed into the truck, and the Joker handed the hostage a set of keys. She immediately started the truck and began to pull away from the curb.

"Um, where are we going?"

"Take a left."

They pulled onto one of Gotham's busiest streets. "Pull over here. Now!"

"Here, by this bank?!"

"That's right, sweetpea."

She screeched to a stop in front of the bank, and swerved violently toward the curb, since the Joker had not given her much time to pull over. "Alright," the Joker said very seriously, "I want you to circle around the block a few times, and come back here at exactly..." He checked his watch. "... 9:18. No earlier, no later. You understand me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. See you then. And don't stick around after I go." He dismounted the van. The hostage watched him walk away for a brief moment, but when he turned his head around to glare at her as a signal to get moving, she hastened to put the van in gear and drive away.

As she drove this stolen van through the teeming streets of Gotham while her cohort was most likely pulling off a bank job, she wondered, what had she gotten herself into? She was fascinated by this character, the Joker, but was she willing to put herself in harm's way so that she could stay with him? _I suppose it's better than staying in that gloomy apartment all day,_ she thought to herself. _Better to get out of there._ And then it occurred to her, _I could just escape. Give him the slip and be done with this whole thing._ But could she do that? If she didn't go pick him up, he would be done for. He was trusting her to be there when he needed her to be there. Otherwise, he'd have nowhere to run. He must have known all this. How does he know she won't just drive off?

The truck's digital clock read 9:17. Now or never. Turn at this light and pick up the Joker, or make a break for it. The light turned green. She remained stopped. The car behind her honked its horn. Glancing in her rearview mirror, then back at the road, she put on her turn signal and made the left.

The clock flipped to 9:18, and the hostage pulled up to the bank. As soon as the van was put in park, the Joker ran out of the bank in a clown mask, carrying two large duffel bags that seemed full to bursting. He dove into the van, shouting "GO! GO! GO!" The hostage fumbled with the transmission but managed to scream away from the bank before the police got there. The Joker looked behind him, watching for cops in pursuit. He smiled as he removed his mask. "Ahh, a job well done. You ever done this before?"

The hostage, wide-eyed and heart still racing, shook her head.

"No? Well! Not bad for a first-timer. Your timing was impeccable."

"Thanks," the hostage gasped, looking feverishly into the rear-view mirror every couple seconds.

"You need to relax, kid. Stressing out won't help ya in this business. Make a right here."

The hostage suddenly found herself driving through one of the seediest parts of Gotham – the Narrows. This was where the crime lords lived and operated. A breeding ground for vice, sin, and corruption, this was where the lowest of the low made their home. Even now, midmorning, it seemed as dark as pitch. "Stop here," the Joker commanded. The hostage did as she was told and saw a huge abandoned warehouse.  
"This another hideout of yours?"

"It's not exactly a hideout for me, so much as my... worldly possessions." He hopped out of the truck with his two duffel bags and headed for the front door of the warehouse. Seeing that he was not going to wait for her, the hostage turned off the van and hurried to catch up.


End file.
